Memories Stealing into the Heart
by JamesLuver
Summary: Modern AU. "I'm not preoccupied," he said. "I'm just…thinking. If I'm honest, I can't get over how a few months ago I wanted to learn your name and now you're having breakfast with me in my sweater."


**A/N:** Originally posted 17th March 2018 on Tumblr for** theglamourfades**' birthday.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own _Downton Abbey_.

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It was the unnatural warmth of the room that drew John's attention first. During his life, he had been in many uncomfortable situations, in searing heat and in frigid cold, but this…this was unlike anything he had ever known. Grunting, he tried to shift away from the hot weight that was bearing down upon him and locking him in place. His sleepy mind conjured up vague memories of being a lad, of waking up with the heavy press of a large ginger cat across his chest, much like an unwanted hot water bottle on a humid summer's day.

"Gerrof," he muttered, not opening his eyes, swiping in the direction of the compression on his chest.

What his fingers came into contact with was definitely not fur.

It was silky-smooth, flowing. Frowning, he explored further, touching something else, something _flesh_.

A low groan. No, that was definitely not a cat.

"What're you doing?"

The voice, accent thicker with tiredness, made him jump, and his eyes snapped open. He pushed himself up slightly, frantically looking to confirm what surely had to be a dream—

But no. This was very, very real. And the memories came flooding back.

Anna. _Anna _was here with him. She'd spent the night for the very first time, and none of it had been fantasy.

Now that sleep was receding, he could better wrap his head around it all. It was Anna's head that he had felt firm against his chest; the rest of her body was vined around his lower half, her left arm flung across the paunch of his stomach, her breasts pressed to his side—he shivered at the realisation—her stomach rubbing sensually against his hip, her left leg thrown over his own.

"Wossup?" she continued, muffling her words against him, and he felt his heart expanding like a balloon inside his chest, the swirling feelings of affection and disbelief almost too much to bear. He scuffed his thumb over her shoulder blades, tracing the delicate outline of her bones. The romantic poet's soul that Anna often teased was trapped inside his body wanted to declare her as carved by angels; she was as close to perfect as he was ever likely to see. She'd tell him that he was stupid if she ever knew that—after all, there was no such thing as perfection, and it was easy to forget about that when she started grousing at him about his bad smoking habit—but in this golden moment of peace and serenity, it was a thought he could not escape nevertheless.

"Sorry," he murmured, pressing his palm to the small of her back in a bid to bring her even closer to him, no mean feat. "Go back to sleep." He knew how dearly she hated early mornings, how early she had to rise for work in the week. She deserved a lie-in on a Saturday morning, and though he had always been an early riser, he could think of no better way to start his day than to remain right here by her side, soaking up the warmth of her body, listening to the comforting cadence of her breathing, enjoying the weight of her all along him.

Anna hummed, tucking her head further against him, and he closed his eyes to relish the sensation.

But then she stiffened. Pulled away.

His eyes shot open at once. Latent fear, fear that he had been working so hard to dispel, came rushing back in a tidal wave, and for that brief second he was right back in the past, back with Vera and her games. He was already primed to flinch away from acid words, derisive jibes about how low she'd stooped.

That blow, of course, never came.

Instead, Anna pulled the duvet up around her shoulders as she brought her knees up to her chin, her eyes glowing with wonder.

"So, last night really happened," she said, a rose tinge infusing her cheeks. It was a colour that suited her.

"It did," John agreed, pushing himself into a sitting position so he could rest his back against the headboard. In the soft morning light, he found that he was self-conscious all over again. Anna had mapped his body by the moonlight; his flaws had not been thrown into the sharp relief that they would be in the harsh light of day. For over ten years he had hardly been able to look at himself in the mirror; he would never be able to fathom how he didn't repulse someone like Anna.

There was not one sign of regret in her countenance. Sighing, she shuffled closer to him, mirroring his position. Beneath the duvet which was still up to her neck, she found his hand. The touch startled him; instinctively, he opened his palm for her, and she slid her hand into his, her fingers twining delicately around his. He drew comfort from the surety in her touch.

"How are you feeling?" she murmured.

"Amazing," he answered truthfully. "You?"

"Never better," she replied, and his stomach did a funny kind of lurch as if it was doing backflips. She stared down at the duvet, her thumb moving up and down the side of his index finger with a tenderness that took his breath away. "I was sure that I'd wake up to find it had been nothing more than a dream."

He snorted, unable to stop himself. "_You _thought that it would be nothing more than a dream?"

She fixed him with a look, the no-nonsense kind that he had come to recognise over the months they had been dating—it was one that was sent his way frequently, whenever she grew tired of his self-deprecating jabs. He doubted that she'd ever be able to fully stop them, but she certainly did a good job of quelling them for the time being.

"Yes," she said, as if she thought he'd said something incredibly stupid. "I've been waiting for this moment for a long time."

It boggled his mind that she could say things like that, with such sincerity in her tone. Anna could have chosen any man she wanted, and yet she had decided that she wanted to spend her time with him. He was both grateful and honoured that she would do such a thing.

Unbidden, he flashed back to the way they had been under the cover of night, of the way that her lean, slight body had twined around his, how good she had felt pressed to him in that way. The echo of her moans, the memory of her hot, sharp breaths in his ear, the recollection of her quivering limbs…all of it served to spark something inside him. He shifted, bashful.

"It was pretty good, wasn't it?" he said.

"I'd say it was more than that, Mr. Bates," said Anna, a definite lilt to her tone. She edged herself even closer, turning a little so that she was facing him. He was powerless to resist as she halved the distance between them until her face was mere centimetres away from his. When she was this close to him, he found that it was difficult to concentrate on anything else; she stole into his mind and saturated his senses in a way that he'd thought was simply impossible. In such a short space of time she had become his beacon. Even in those early days with Vera he had never been struck with the sensation that returning to her was like coming home. He had never wrapped himself around her and felt that, at long last, he had found peace. Vera had been all tempestuous fire, like a raging sea in the heart of a storm, like the Devil stealing those souls from purgatory. Being with her had been exciting at first, he could not deny that, but that kind of fierce conflagration burned itself out far too quickly, leaving only ashes that scattered in the wind, those broken dreams that nothing could mend. Anna was everything that he thought he'd lost with his foolish, youthful decisions.

Coherent thought deserted him in the next instant as Anna's mouth met his. She kissed him tenderly, raking her fingers through his hair, and he grasped her around the waist, enjoying the lightness of his spirit that he had thought had long gone.

But then there was a low growl.

Anna pulled away at once, her cheeks spilling over with colour once more. John blinked, unable to stop the smirk from spreading across his face as he cocked his head to one side.

"Was that your stomach?" he said.

She buried her face in her hands, all the confirmation he needed. Chuckling, he tugged her closer, nudging his nose against her.

"It's not that bad," he said.

"It is when I've spoiled the mood."

"You've done no such thing. I daresay we've worked up an appetite."

This time it was Anna's turn to grin bashfully, and she peered at him between her fingers. "I suppose you're right there."

"There's no suppose about it. I'm famished too." He encouraged her to pull her hands away, then pressed a quick kiss to her lips. "How does breakfast in bed sound?"

Now she was positively beaming. "It's been years since I had breakfast in bed. The last time was when I was ill at uni and Mary made me dry toast. It was revolting—you know she's no domestic goddess—but I was touched by the sentiment."

"Well, allow me to treat you like a princess on this fine morning," said John. "Though I can't promise that my offerings will be any less disastrous than Mary's. I've spent too many years sticking to the basics."

"You've impressed me so far," she said, tongue in cheek.

He snorted. "Yes, that burned lasagne was a particular highlight." He had thought himself the world's biggest failure for that one, but Anna had quickly soothed his disappointment away, taking it all with her usual unfailing good humour and generosity.

"I managed to eat around the worst of the burned bits," she giggled. "I'm sure I'll manage the same this morning if the worst comes to the worst."

"Charming," he said, groaning as he heaved himself to the edge of the bed. "Well, you stay here. I'll be back very soon to present you with the best 'morning after' breakfast you've ever had."

"Don't worry, I had no intention of moving anywhere else," said Anna, flopping down into the space he had just vacated, humming appreciatively as the warmth from his side apparently soaked through her skin. "Nice view, by the way."

John snorted. It had been a long time since he had last considered himself someone who might catch the eye of someone of the opposite sex, but the sincerity in Anna's voice was breath-taking. For her benefit, he limped across the room even more slowly than usual, giving her time to take in all of him from behind. He could feel her eyes boring into him, and entertained himself by imagining her gaze drifting down to his backside. Christ, what had she done to him? It had been a long time since he had last acted like a ruddy peacock for a woman. That was something foolish young men did.

Anna made him feel like the years had rolled back.

He reached for his robe and slung it over his nakedness. Anna's groan of disappointment made him grin.

"Won't be long," he said, not quite daring to glance over his shoulder in case the sight of her lying there ruffled in his bedsheets tempted the thought of treating her to breakfast in bed clean out of his mind.

His culinary skills were not as disastrous as he'd feared. He managed the toast with minimal effort and even dared to try his hand at scrambled eggs. They came out runnier than he'd have liked—his mother had always made the fluffiness of them seem trivial—but they were at least edible. His bacon was slightly charred, but only around the edges, so he hacked those off as best he could. At least he could make a mean cup of tea.

Suitably plated up, he balanced everything on a tray and made the precarious journey back upstairs to his bedroom. Juice sloshed slightly over the edges of the too-full glasses, but thankfully that was the only mini disaster that he encountered. He pushed the door open with his toes and entered the room.

"Breakfast is served, milady," he announced.

Anna was no longer where he had left her; she was now sitting up in bed, cross-legged…wearing the jumper that she had divested him of in a bout of desperation only hours earlier. He stopped short. She cocked her eyebrow at him.

"Something wrong?" she asked.

He tried to speak, but no words were forthcoming. Besides, how would he possibly be able to articulate the confusing vortex of emotions that swirled around inside of him? It was primitive silliness, but seeing her wearing something of _his_ made his heart beat faster and his throat dry.

"You wear that better than I ever have done," he croaked at last, limping further into the room. She giggled, but it was true. It was miles to big on her; small and slight as she was, it absolutely buried her, the neck falling halfway down one shoulder, the sleeves well past her hands, the breadth and length of it covering everything from his sight, but there was something unexplainably erotic about seeing her wear that. Somehow, it made everything seem realer.

"Silly beggar," she said affectionately. "Bring that over here. I'm starving."

He did so dutifully, shuffling back onto the bed and laying the tray across her lap. They ate in companiable silence for a while, exchanging knowing grins whenever they caught each other's eye. At last, however, Anna spoke.

"Is there something wrong?" she asked, a light frown creasing her brow.

John started. "What? No, of course not."

"You just seem a little more preoccupied than you ought to be—and it's not a post-coital haze."

He blushed at the baldness of her words, shoving the last corner of toast into his mouth. He chewed slowly to give himself time to mull things over before speaking again.

"I'm not preoccupied," he said. "I'm just…thinking. If I'm honest, I can't get over how a few months ago I wanted to learn your name and now you're having breakfast with me in my sweater."

Anna blinked at him, then burst into giggles. "If I'm honest, neither can I. Especially when you only wanted to learn my name so you could get my insurance details off me."

"You were very reluctant to give them up, from what I recall."

"You can't blame me. My insurance is going to be horrific this year."

"With the way you rear-ended my car, I'm not surprised."

"Oh, please, that was hardly my fault. My brakes failed me in the snow. There wasn't anything I could have done to prevent it."

"Maybe you could have made the decision not to take a car famous for being useless in snow down a vertical hill?" he said and was rewarded for his cheek by a pillow to the face.

"I still had the last laugh," she resumed primly, as if she hadn't just walloped him one. "_I _at least was sensible enough to be part of the AA. They came and rescued me while you were left on the roadside. I bet you called me some right names."

"I was a bit put out," he agreed. Just thinking about that cold made him shiver; it had been bitter that day, and his knee had ached fiercely at being stuck out in such temperatures in such cramped conditions for so long. "And I was mortified that I was going to be late on my very first day."

"You made it there eventually, though, didn't you?" Anna said serenely, taking a sip of her juice.

"Two hours late, as I'm sure you recall."

She snickered. "I have to say, your face was absolutely priceless. If I could have taken a picture of your expression when you realised that I was sitting in on the board meeting too, I would have done. It would have made great comedy gold with the Crawleys."

"It did knock me off balance," he admitted. His stomach had lurched unpleasantly to find her sitting there, on Mary Crawley's right hand side, looking every inch the consummate professional when hours earlier he had exchanged angry words with her out in the billowing snow. And, beneath all that, he'd been reluctantly impressed that she'd managed to put herself together so very well when he'd staggered in snow-saturated and panting for breath.

"You could hardly bear to meet my eye."

"I was horribly embarrassed to find you there when I'd spoken to you in a less than gentlemanly manner. I was sure that you were going to set against me from that moment on."

She shrugged. "I've had worse levelled at me than what you did. And Mary has always told me that I'm too kind for my own good."

"Something I am infinitely grateful for," he said. It was true. These early months at Crawley's had been good for him, but there had also been some sour experiences to mar his good spirits. Thomas Barrow and Sarah O'Brien had been constant, painful thorns in his side, and he had needed all the allies he could get in order to keep one step ahead of them. To no one's surprise more than his own, Anna of all people had been his greatest supporter. She had defended him like a lioness might protect the cubs in her pride, and he had come to rely on her support more and more the longer he had known her.

Perhaps it had been inevitable that he should start to fall for her, too. She was quick-witted and energetic, kind and just, vivacious and cheerful. Not to mention beautiful to boot. Even in that first meeting, he had had to acknowledge on a deep-down level that she was incredibly pretty. Love was a thing of the past, as far as he'd been concerned, but she had sneaked past the line of his defences like a soldier penetrating enemy lines in battle. And he would never be able to thank her enough for taking him hostage and making him see that there could be light in his life after all.

Anna's eyes were misty with distant fondness. "And after it was over I approached you and offered to buy you a coffee so we could start over on a proper footing."

"You said more than that," he reminded her. In actual fact, she'd told him that she'd buy him a coffee but that was the extent of it all—she'd let him know right from the beginning that she was strong and sassy when she told him that was all the favour he'd garner, sexual or no. He'd gone cold all over with horror and embarrassment that she'd say such a thing in public. Now, all this time on, he could laugh about it too. "And you went back on your word."

Anna's eyes danced mischievously. "I think you'll find that _you_were the one giving the favours last night, Mr. Bates, not me."

He cleared his throat, taking a swig of his own juice. "I suppose as long as you were satisfied…"

"Oh, I was. Immensely. I thought you might have known that."

"I did. You made it quite plain."

"There you are, then. Though you'd do well to wipe that smile from your face, John Bates. You look like the cat who got the cream."

"Believe me, I feel like the luckiest bloke in the world right now. It's hard to wipe the smile from my face when I feel so very blessed."

"You've always been such a charmer."

"I've not got much else going for me."

She turned serious at that. "Don't say that. You have plenty going for you. I've been waiting for a man like you to come along. Someone kind and loyal, someone who treats me like an equal and not just a trophy…"

"You will always be my equal," he told her. The warm feeling that had been kindling in his chest all morning was spreading again, warming him to the very tips of his ears and toes. "I love you."

For a moment, he didn't even realise what he'd said. Not until Anna said, voice trembling, "W-What?"

It crashed over him then. He'd just told her that he loved her. He'd been nursing that in the deepest crevice of his heart, tending to that tiny flame, protecting it at all costs in case something came along to extinguish it for good, but it had grown to such a blaze that it was simply untameable. No doubt he would pay for that dearly.

"I just—" he started, stumbling, his mind sluggish as he tried to think of some way to downplay this and bring back the lightness of moments earlier, but her hand over his stopped him. When he glanced up, he found that her eyes were shimmering.

"Christ, I'm sorry—" he said, alarmed—the last thing he wanted to do was bloody make her cry!—but she shook her head, a small laugh escaping her.

"Don't be sorry," she said. "Definitely don't be sorry. I was half-scared that I was at that point all on my own. I was prepared to wait for you to catch up…"

"And I was afraid that I had got too far ahead of myself," he confessed. "I didn't want to scare you away."

"So it appears that we're both silly beggars," she said, moving the tray to one side. John's brain seemed to be working in slow motion as she moved across the bed towards him, dropping herself into his lap once more.

"We hadn't finished," he said stupidly. "We've not touched our tea yet. I do hate cold tea."

Anna arched an eyebrow. "You really care about tea at a time like this?"

She ground down on him pointedly, and his head fell back; he was unable to stop the groan that rattled from his chest.

"No," he gasped, his hands slipping beneath the oversized jumper and grabbing onto her hips. She pushed him back down amongst the sheets, nipping at his ear.

"I love you," she whispered. "I love you, I love you…"

The words were sweeter than honey, and the pleasure that followed was all the sharper for it.

By the time they were done, their tea was stone cold. And John Bates found that he didn't mind at all.


End file.
